satishverma

Not Reproaching

Robbed― 
of my aloneness, by 
an army of ravens― 

thoughts. I 
meditate and weave 
your face― 

in muse. My 
journey begins on a 
mist scent as the moon rises. 

What more you 
want, than the silence, 
before the bell tolls.

Comments1

  • Joker Wood

    I like this.
    I hear a chime when I read it.
    Some form of imagery.

    Love and Laughter,
    Joker44



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